


One Little Word

by lmirandas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, First Meeting, Greg has a twin sister with a big crush on Mycroft, M/M, Mystrade Valentine's Calendar 2018, Nicknames, Soulmate AU, Teen!Mystrade, friends - Freeform, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:54:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13799001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: Love. Amor. Amore. Lieb. Amour. 恋. One little word, with so much meaning in many languages. In a world in which you can only utter or use the word to refer to your soulmate, Mycroft Holmes hopes one day he will hear that word from someone else. A Mystrade Soulmate AU.





	One Little Word

**Author's Note:**

> Made for the Mystrade Valentine's Calendar 2018. Thanks to our darling Mottlemoth for organizing this beautiful thing. I also want to thank my one and only Gio, @alifetimeaheadtoprovethat, for the wonderful art she made for this story.

 

Love. Such a little word. Four letters, at least in the Queen's English. Even as a small child, Mycroft Holmes knew there was something special about that word. When Mycroft was only one year old, he tried saying the word to his Mummy. The cute ginger tot was unable to utter a sound. Frustrated, he kept trying, getting a little red, his pudgy hand clenching the blanket on his warm crib, his curly auburn hair gleaming in the sunlight. His Mummy, oblivious to her son's plight, was pruning her roses, humming a little song while her very expensive in-house nanny watched curiously over the little boy. He looked like he would benefit from some more fibre in his diet, or so his confused minder thought. She had no idea of the real cause of her charge's distress, the little genius boy was not used to not getting his way, yet that simple word seemed to elude him. So far he had been able to repeat every little sound his au pair said, even longer, more complicated ones, in different languages. The nanny, with a spot-on brilliance that Mary Poppins would have envied, sensed that a temper tantrum was coming her way, so she checked that her employer was distracted as she pulled a biscuit out of her apron, effectively changing the focus of the little redhead. Mycroft was then adequately mollified, and the nanny could drink her tea happily for a bit longer.

The chubby baby grew into a toddler, his beautiful reddish hair curling and with the exposure to sunlight, the first freckles began to appear on his nose and cheeks. He saw his Mummy and Father dancing one day in the greenhouse, hiding from his ever-suffering piano instructor, who said he had the makings of a musical genius, but his heart was not entirely captivated by the instrument. As he peeked through his mother's hydrangeas, he heard the word again. His father, proud of the woman he had in his arms, kept peppering her face with small kisses, repeating every once in a while: Love. Love. Mycroft's eidetic memory started dragging thoughts. He remembered the word. The toddler rolled it in his mouth, mumbling something that could sound like it if you were not from this planet. But as he tried to use it, to say it, he couldn't. The sound would not come. The frustration that it caused made him reveal his hiding place, and his parents sent him back inside to continue his torture with the tutor.

Finally, when frustration was too much, and his curiosity couldn't handle it anymore, he asked his mother about that word.

"Which word darling?"  
"That word Mummy, the one you use with Father, the one I can't say. I can enunciate all the words in the English language, French and Latin, but I keep forgetting that specific word."  
"Oh, you mean love?"  
"Yes! That word! L..."

And he tried with all his might, but the word would not come out.

"L... L.... Mummy, I can't say it. I've become a moron like the rest of the children."  
"Now Mycroft darling, that is not a good thing to say. And what do we do when we don't have anything positive to add?"  
"We keep it to ourselves."  
"Perfect, darling. Now, that word is extraordinary. There is a word like it in every language."  
"Even in French?"  
"Yes, even in French sweetheart."  
"And in Latin?"  
"Yes, it exists in Latin too."  
"Could I pronounce it correctly in French."  
"Not yet sweetie, not yet."  
"Why? Why can't I say the word Mummy?"  
"As I was telling you, that word is exceptional. You can use that word to describe a feeling, a sentiment so remarkable that one can only express it in earnest. And you can only say it to one person, and that person is your soulmate. Now, everyone has a soulmate; some people even have two or, very rarely, more than two in a lifetime. It is not usual to have more than one at the same time; the common thing is that you have one person who completes you in such a way that you can use that word for them. Some people marry that person like your father and me did, and some people just have a very close relationship with them. Most of them, when they find each other, they live together until one of them passes away."  
"And do you gain anything by having a soulmate? Is it necessary?"

Violet Holmes sighed. Her eldest son with his tender seven years was more inquisitive and more ambitious than any child she had met before. He was passionate, but he didn't do well with others. Undoubtedly the revelation of sharing something as intimate as love with someone would cause him some anxiety. And of course, he wanted to find out if the whole ordeal was worth it. 'What is in it for me?' That was her son summed up in a jiffy. Hopefully having a little brother soon will make him less selfish.

"Well, some people can be what we call enhanced. Enhanced people have abilities that get potentiated by having a soulmate bond. For example, Mummy's research. Before I met your Father, I was already studying mathematics. I was brilliant, do not doubt that, but something was lacking. I could see the numbers, I could work on theories, but nothing felt innovative, nothing felt as bright as it should be. Then your Father came along. My research bloomed, and I published my first book with my new theorems. I feel that the whole enhanced bit is pure balderdash, but there is some scientific basis for all of it. Neuroscientists have agreed to disagree on most of the publications out there. What I think is that soulmates contribute to our happiness, and happy people are productive people. True, some have said that enhancements on more complex areas of development are rare finds, but I think those people had those special advantages even before they met their soulmates. It's a fascinating subject."

Seven-year-old boys don't ask questions about words they can't pronounce, and they also tend to move on from complicated subjects. Of course, Mycroft's mother explanation had a different effect on her son. The moment she mentioned the word "enhanced", he was hooked. She could see him calculating, thinking about what his unique ability would be.

"And the enhanced ones, do they do good things?"  
"Like what dear?"  
"Serve Queen and Country, for example."  
"You have been spending too much time with your Uncle Rudy darling."  
"But do they?"  
"Well, I guess it would depend on what you define as good. Now, run along. Your tutor is coming soon. I'm so proud of you; she says you might be moving on to Italian next week."  
"After that, what is next? I think I can gather the basics with some alacrity."  
"My, the mouth on you. Maybe Portuguese? You can teach your little brother when he comes."  
"You think he can be my soulmate?"

Her son probably thought soulmates were one's minions. Boy, was he in for a ride when he found his. God knows her husband made things enjoyable, if not always easy.

"It's not unheard of, people having platonic relationships with their soulmates, but siblings being soulmates is rare. I think I read once of a published case. Can't recall right now, I'm afraid."  
"So he is going to be of no use whatsoever then?"  
"Mycroft Holmes. Again, positive? Until it sticks, I'm afraid."  
"If not positive, we keep it to ourselves. I know, Mummy. But one can counterargue that it was not a negative statement per se."  
"My Lord. You are probably not spending more time with Rudy until you have gained some social skills dear one. My brother is the only hermit with no friends I can allow to thrive in this family. Trust your mother darling; it's for your betterment."  
"Mother, does Uncle Rudy have a soulmate?"  
"Well, he does. He did."  
"One can lose a soulmate?"  
"Unfortunately, one can lose anyone and anything darling, even a soulmate. Remember Max?"

Mycroft started pouting. Max was still fondly remembered. Mycroft's pet ferret had lived a wonderful life before he had fallen victim to lymphoma. That was his first experience with losing something he cherished, and the hurdle not crossed yet. The boy adored his furry pal, and burying him was a big blow.

"I don't want a soulmate now Mummy."  
"I'm afraid one has no choice in that my boy."  
"But what if I lose them?"  
"Your soulmate would want you to go on; love is complicated. Maybe you can ask your Uncle Rudy when you are older."  
"Maybe."

And Violet knew that was the last word she was going to get from her son.

As time flew, the arrival of Sherlock turned Mycroft's life upside down. He felt something so profound for his little brother, a desire to protect and cherish that went beyond anything he had felt before. He tried uttering the word, to no avail. His mother was probably right; his brother was not his soulmate. But he couldn't imagine feeling anything as complex for anyone else. Two years later, his little sister came, and again he felt overwhelmed by his feelings for the little girl with dark hair and grey eyes much like Sherlock's. Once more, he tried and got stuck in the first letter. His two-year-old brother kept looking at him, and Sherlock learned a new word. Constipated.

Sherlock and Eurus became thick as thieves growing up, both of them under the watchful eyes of their big brother, who both of them thought was hilarious and hung the clouds from the sky, when he was home, that is. Boarding school was a thing for Mycroft since age eleven, and as his siblings got closer to each other, the small age difference and their similar passion for science and exploring made the gap in years between them and Mycroft feel like a chasm. But that was ok; they respected him at least. Violin lessons substituted piano lessons in the Holmes manor, as both of his younger siblings proved adept to the instrument. Eurus was a virtuoso; she swayed with the music, making her pieces at age seven, her brother playing the music she composed. Sherlock made his own, complicated and a little darker, Eurus had a way with happy music, melodies that made you think of sunflowers and sunny days. She dragged her brother to dancing lessons, which made Sherlock complain but Mycroft knew he secretly enjoyed. And the precipice got wider.

Summer came, and Mycroft, at age sixteen, wanted to dwell in his teenage angst. Always a chubby kid, now a hefty teenager, he was the victim of bullies at school, that is, until they said something to his face. His analysis of people's feelings and expressions was flawless, and soon he got he became famous, or infamous depending on who you asked about it, as the boy who knew everything about you with a single glance. His siblings wanted to visit Mamé in Avignon, and Mycroft, with the excuse of school work, was allowed to stay at the manor alone for the duration of the visit. The grounds were his to explore once again unencumbered by his two mischievous shadows. He could even, when the staff was being bothersome, walk the distance to the little town and sit there under a tree reading, hiding from the bullies, which even though he knew how to handle them he preferred not to, too much effort on his part. He preferred peace and quiet, and the only reason he walked out of the property in the first place was to acquire it. He followed the road out to the skirts of town, the green and quiet still all around. Too much sun and he would burn, so a shadow was needed. He looked around for a suitable tree shade, where Mycroft put the little blanket he decided to carry almost as an afterthought, his trousers were still pristine, and that was the way he wanted to keep them.

He had all the comfort he needed, a little brick wall separating his secluded spot from the main road. His book, a treaty on the political insight of Britain after World War II, was all he needed as a companion. He got lost in the words and the political schemes, which was the reason he didn't hear the commotion around him and almost had a coronary when a boy who looked a little older than him jumped over the wall and nearly collapsed over him. He was going to yell at him to move, but the boy placed his hand over his mouth and shushed him. His hand smelt like grass and something else he didn't recognise and was also dirty. Mycroft was about to pass out with the indignity of it all, a dirty hand on his face for crying out loud, but then he heard them. The town bullies.

"That bastard! He has to be around. Imma gonna destroy that pretty face of his."  
"S'okay. He can't hide forever. He will have to show his hide if he wants his bike back. Let's go back to the pub."

The young man groaned softly. Apparently, that 'bike' was a prized possession in the boy's book. Mycroft glared at the youth who still had his hand over his mouth, which only caused him to smile back at him. Dark brown eyes and a messy riot of brown hair, with perfectly aligned white teeth. Huh. He was a menace, but at least he was attractive. Those rare instances in which Mycroft found someone appealing fell on members of his same gender, so if Mycroft wanted to classify himself he would be called 'gay' or something, but it didn't mind on current society. As long as you found your soulmate, they could be male, female, non-binary and no one cared since the scientific explanation for soulmates had yet to be discovered, and no one could explain why some people had soulmates from the same gender or non-gender.

"I'm sorry! God, my hands were a mess, look at your face! Here, let me help."

And the boy extracted from his jeans a rag that was even dirtier than his hands. He looked at it and gave Mycroft another smile and a shrug.

"Looks like my 'help' might only make things worse. Hi, I'm G."

And once again the dirty hand, extended for Mycroft to shake. Mycroft sighed and pulled out his handkerchief, wincing when he saw how it look after he rubbed his face, dark spots of something that looked like coal on the white cloth, marring the usual cleanliness of the garment. He glared at the boy again, which caused a sheepish grin from the object of his wrath, who wiped his hand on his jeans before extending it once more for a shake. Mycroft took it, frowning.

"G? Is that a moniker?"  
"A what?"  
"A nickname, a shortening of a proper name."  
"Well, yes."  
"And?"  
"Everyone calls me G."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, no matter how handsome the boy was, he probably was dumb as grass. So he was utterly unprepared when the boy kept staring at him and smiling.

"What is the colour of your eyes? In this light they look blue, but if I move this way they look kind of grey. What colour would you call them?"  
"I... I have no idea. No one has ever asked me something like that."  
"Huh. It figures. People never pay enough attention. For example, some people might say your hair is brown or even auburn. Now, even in the shade, I can see the tint of red. You are a redhead. And look at the freckles. Those prove my point. I could also say you are posh, educated, and brilliant just by looking at you. Probably you think I'm dumb as dirt."

Mycroft was about to sputter his denial when his dignity and calm came suddenly back. Well, his Father had always told him never to judge a book by the cover. It seemed there was a little more depth to this G character than he first acknowledged. Mycroft was a solver, one who used his mind for his betterment and that of others, so he was going to mend his error in judgement by helping the youth who was in dire trouble by the looks of the previous events.

"It seems like you are in the middle of a conundrum. You were followed here by Fuller and his gang, correct?"  
"Do you know them?"  
"I've had previous experience with the local hoodlums. Pray, what did you do to deserve their wrath? Or was it just one of their usual tasteless pranks that brought you here?"  
"Well, I took the air out of the wheels in their bikes, since they were harassing my cousin Francine, cat calling and bothering her, even when she has repeatedly told Fuller that no, she doesn't like him and no, she doesn't want to be his girlfriend."  
"And I guess you were not stealthy enough since they discovered it was you?"  
"I might have also told them to stay away from her. Swearing at them, depending on who you ask."  
"And I guess the vehicle he mentioned is yours then?"  
"Merde! I completely forgot about it. C is going to kill me! We built that bike from scratch, well, using Papa's old frame but we got all the parts from garages and junkyards."  
"Is your cousin Francine the only one with a proper name in your family? Do the rest of you insist on using letters instead of a proper Christian name?"

At that, the boy laughed, a full, throaty laugh tinged with the sound of too many cigarettes. Tsk, tsk and at such a young age. Maybe he had one he could share with him. And now he was fantasising about having a smoke with the little vandal who almost crushed him. The boy's charm and physical beauty were affecting his judgement. Time to do what he meant to do and make amends.

"Do you want to check if your means of locomotion is still in one piece? Or you prefer the dreadful surprise later. Perhaps if we go together, we can make them see reason."  
"Mmm. I dunno, I don't think Fuller even knows how to spell reason. But I would appreciate your company anyway. Just don't laugh if you see me cry over my destroyed bike."  
"I promise I will keep my laughter for later when I'm alone and can enjoy revisiting your misery on command."  
"That's very good of you kind sir. Now, after you."

They walked in silence the little road uptown, but this was a different kind of silence than the type Mycroft usually experienced. It was comfortable. G started whistling, which caused another 'look' from his companion and again the laugh. That laugh shouldn't affect Mycroft, who was a sombre boy and didn't usually engage in glee or banter with his peers. But there was something about this boy, this G, which made him feel at ease.

The road was unkept, in some areas just a dirt road, with crooked stones that could puncture a tire in a second of carelessness. The grass around the roads was green, kept by the people, not the council, in good health and beautiful array. The little brick wall which surrounded part of the way was derelict but provided excellent hiding spots for some teens up to no good and Mycroft Holmes with his books. As they started to approach the pub, which was also the headquarters for the local gang of miscreants, G began to fidget; his confidence faded a little. The boy kept looking around, waiting for an unseen spectre to manifest. His face fell when they reached the back of the local. The bike was missing in the picture.

"Damn. I hoped those fuckers would slash the tires or scratch the painting, not take the whole thing! C is going to tear me into little pieces and throw me in the well behind Nan's house."  
"C is going to slap your ugly face, but gets why you did it, bro."

The aforementioned C was a girl that looked about Mycroft's age, dressed in ripped jeans, a loose T-shirt and dirty sneakers. She was thin, short, with tanned skin and dark brown hair, big eyes with full lips and a dazzling smile, that could be no other than G's sibling. Her gaze, directed at Mycroft, was warm, and as soon as she was close to him, she took his hand in both of hers.

"I hope this idiot didn't give you much trouble. I'm C, G's older and wiser sister."  
"Older by two minutes."  
"And you very well remember it. You can be an utter moron sometimes."  
"Gee, thanks, sis. This well-dressed fellow right here is my new friend Mycroft. He decided to help me because, well, I have no idea, but he is going to help."

She pulled G into a tight hug and kissed his cheek, and Mycroft could sense her pride even with her harsh words. He was elated to be called G's friend with just an offer of help and a passing acquaintance, his kind words so different to the ones he usually received from his peers at school. That and C's smile made him less averse to strangers that he often felt

"I'm sorry we lost our bike C. I will make it up to you some way."  
"That's ok, hon. We can start over."

At that, Mycroft straightened his spine. It was time to act then.

"Let us see what we can find. G, will you check the last place where you parked your bike?"  
"Right there beside that railing."  
"Do you see anything unusual or different?"  
"I see the tracks I made when I parked it. I don't see tracks going away from the place."  
"Footprints or other things."  
"Don't you want to take a look yourself?"

Mycroft shuddered but undertaking legwork from time to time was expected on many occasions. So, chin up and keep up. He walked around the spot G signalled, and traced the route in his mind, wincing at the probable result.

"You will find your bike in the old quarry. There is a lot of dust and dirt there."  
"So that is Mycroft speech for I don't want to dirty my trousers."  
"Take it however you want."  
"You don't want to go with us then?"

And at that question, Mycroft was torn, because fraternising with G and his sister was enjoyable, not the usual burden that happened with other's involved outside his family. Mummy was always telling him that he needed to get out more and socialise if he was going to be successful in his chosen field of study. That all his A-levels and knowledge wouldn't help if he couldn't understand the people around him, and that he should make an effort to try and connect. G also looked eager to spend more time with him, with him! The chubby, freckled and awkward kid that sat alone to read on breaks at boarding school had an invitation to join in, a relatively pointless one but still, an adventure. He didn't want to disappoint his new friend, but a visit to the local quarry clashed with his usual laziness. One last look at G sealed his fate, and he extended his arm in a 'lead the way' manner. G's behaviour changed a little in front of his sister, he talked to her like a manic chatterbox, while she laughed and kept side-eying Mycroft. He jumped around and frankly was more like the usual annoying teenagers that Mycroft usually associated with. A little disappointed, he continued in silence and listened to the inanities. C grabbed Mycroft's arm and pulled him down, enough to speak directly in his ear.

"Gets annoying when he is nervous, right?"

Which caused him to snort, something that he was sure he had never done before in all his life. G was looking at them funny, and Mycroft caught his gaze, making him look the other way and keep chattering. Pity, that. The comfortable silence they'd shared before vanished like an MP's campaign promises. He realised then that C kept walking with her arm linked in his.

They reached the quarry, and true to Mycroft's words, it was a very dusty and dirty place. Abandoned years ago by the council when the mining industry dropped in this part of Britain, it was a derelict wreck of what used to be a thriving business for the towns around the mines and the old quarry became a haunting place. And, in the middle of the quarry, without tires and with bent rims was the bike. G yelped when he saw it, both C and him descending carefully through the walls of the half-dug dump site of their precious vehicle. Between both of them they managed to lift it, but pulling it out of the hole was a different story. Resigned to his fate, Mycroft descended carefully, taking the same path that C and G traced, just a lot less gracefully. With his help, they managed to haul the thing out of its grave, which seemed to Mycroft a pointless effort, because the motorbike had seen better days. G opened the fuel tank and smelt, looking like he was going to kill someone.

"They dumped beer in it."  
"Fuckers."

C was furious, and G looked rather miserable too. Mycroft decided it was time to act.

"We found your 'bike'. Now it's time for them to make amends."

C looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"No offence Mycroft, I know you mean well, but those guys are huge. Neanderthal huge. Punch you and mash you to a pulp huge."  
"And I don't intend to resort to my fists to deal with them, dear lady."

C laughed, a higher pitched laugh than her brother, more a giggle.

"Then lead the way. I will protect you if it comes to that. Or I'll grab your arm and run at least."

G was quiet during the whole exchange, still visibly depressed, the interesting this was that Mycroft felt that it was not just about the bike. They walked the way to the pub, but instead of taking them to the main entrance, Mycroft guided them to the back, where a little brown door indicated the employee side of the local. The redhead knocked three times in succession and then once more. A big middle-aged woman with a lovely smile, freckles and red curls with scattered white opened the door and took Mycroft into a one-armed hug.

"Lookey here! If it isn't my favourite ginger tot! How are you this day sweet darlin'? And the little menaces?"  
"Thank heavens they are at Mamé's house for the summer, Miss Adelaide, is Clara working today?"  
"You know she is! You wanted to see your sweetheart? Anthea has been asking about you."  
"I would wager she is. She takes all my candy when she visits. I told her she is going to ruin her teeth, but she keeps ignoring me. Is it ok if I go in?"  
"And your friends?"  
"They can wait out here; I'll be out in a few minutes."

Both C and G were surprised, but they hid it well and acted like they already knew what Mycroft's plan was and were all for it. As the woman let the young man in and closed the door, C and G were left alone for the first time since Mycroft joined them.

"He is very interesting. No wonder why you like him."  
"Like him? I thought it was you who liked him? Since I introduced you both, you've focused on him like some of those science fiction laser beams."  
"That you noticed only proves you like him, bro."  
"Sod it. I do."  
"Well, so do I. But I don't think he would like either of us. He seems destined to great things, that one."

G gave a longing look to the door. It seems ages had transcurred since Mycroft went into the pub. What was he doing in the kitchens? As if summoned, Mycroft appeared through the door, as Adelaide ruffled his hair, which made him roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Now, off with you, do you want to take some chips for you and your little friends?"  
"No need, we are just going to the other side. Clara is doing us a little favour."

With that, the lady kissed his cheek and closed the door again. G was waiting for some explanation as Mycroft extended his arm and C linked hers with his, a complete distraction for G.

"How much money is it going to take to fix your bike G?"  
"Mmm, dunno, with new parts it would be 100 quid or so. With parts from junkyards, I could probably fix it with 75. S'hard to calculate if I don't know the real damage."  
"So that would be a rough estimate? 100 pounds?"  
"Give or take, yeah."  
"Good."  
"What are you planning Mycroft? You are not going to get that kind of money from Fuller."  
"You'll see."

They rounded the pub, and the three of them entered the place, Mycroft as if he owned it, G with a protective stance around both his sister and him. In the corner, right against one of the back walls, Fuller and his pack of miscreants were laughing and roughhousing, all of them falling silent when they saw the trio walk and sit at the bar. One of them tried to get up, but Fuller pulled him down to sit back and told something that made the group laugh. The waitress, a beautiful brunette with long hair, big dark brown eyes and a mischievous expression served Mycroft a plate of chips and a pint of cider, asking G and C for their drink order as he started drinking the cider and offered the plate to his friends. When she came back with a beer and cider for them, she introduced herself with a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you both. I'm Clara. I used to babysit at Mycroft's place. His brother and sister are the reason I have to dye my hair. And I'm also Mycroft's unofficial mother-in-law."

With that G audibly swallowed the chip he was eating and turned to look at Mycroft, who laughed at the statement while he wrote in a paper napkin.

"My three-year-old daughter tells everyone that he is her boyfriend. She is a precocious little darling. Now, what was that favour you needed?"

Mycroft finished his writing, folding the napkin in two, grabbing a second paper one and writing again, this time a little faster. He kept the first of them and gave the other to Clara.

"Will you be a dear and give that paper to Martin Fuller for me? Give him a beer, on my tab so that he can digest the content."  
"Are you in some trouble with that punk?"  
"When am I ever in trouble Clara?"

She lifted one eyebrow and crossed her arms in disbelief, but took the beer and paper anyway. Fuller smiled at Clara and took both items from her hand. She bent down and told him something to his ear, which made him walk to the loo with the napkin in his hand. When he came back, his face was white as a paper sheet, and he lifted his eyes to look at Mycroft, who had turned to face their table and made the motion of taking his napkin, placing it in his pocket and tapping it for Fuller to see. The man nodded at him, a secret agreement made. Mycroft sat again facing the bar and casually started checking his nails.

"You will have the money for your bike tomorrow. Fuller is never going to bother either you or any member of your family again."  
"How? How on earth?"

G was gesturing with his hands, while his mouth hung open in surprise.

"Close your mouth, that look doesn't become you. You see, that table is right beside the inner kitchen wall. A little manoeuvring and I could listen. Listening and looking at Fuller's interactions with his peers from this distance was the only thing I needed to make some conclusions. It seems that Mr Fuller is willing to pay for me to keep my findings to myself."  
"Mycroft! Are you blackmailing Martin Fuller?"  
"Blackmail is such an ugly word C. Let us say that I agreed to keep his secret as a gentleman, while he gladly will make reparations to my friends for any trouble he might have caused."  
"You are a scary one, Mycroft."  
"I will take that as a compliment my dear lady."  
"That's it. You are part of the family now. I can't thank you enough, Myc."  
"Ah, I wondered when I was going to get an unfortunate nickname too. I guess that is one of the disadvantages that come with friends."  
"Do all your other friends call you Mycroft then?"  
"As you and your sister are the first people who ever proclaimed to be my 'friends', I guess no."  
"You are pulling my hair, right? How can someone as amazing as you have no friends?"  
"Well, I'm not your usual teenager. My interests lie elsewhere, and boarding school is so dull and boring. Including the people in there."  
"Let me guess, your interests lie in planning how to take over the world."

He gave C a smirk and tapped the side of his nose.

"Well, this has been interesting. Clara, dear, give Anthea my regards."

He rose from the stool with a grace he was sure he didn't usually possess, his new friends smiling at him.

"Yeah, I should help C get the bike home. Will I see you around?"  
"If you wish."  
"Sure! Tomorrow?"

Mycroft smiled again and waved. Tomorrow would be nice.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

It was the most fabulous summer in Mycroft's life. His new friends saw him as a kind of superhero, and when they introduced him to Francine, the cousin embraced him like a long-lost relative, kissing both his cheeks and causing Mycroft to blush up to the root of his hair. Francine's dad owned the convenience store of the little town, and soon the back of it became the place where they met, to either gulp down fizzy drinks, sometimes even beer (G) and smoke, hiding the cigarette butts in a potted plant. G worked on his bike and Mycroft sat and read, and he even taught G and Francine how to play chess. He got so used to G coming to meet him in the middle of the road and also driving him back home in his newly repaired motorbike, Mycroft hanging to his back for dear life. C flirted shamelessly with him when she was not working her shift, as Mycroft got her a summer job at the pub helping Clara and Adelaide. One afternoon, after spending the day reading while G worked on his bike, Mycroft was debating the need of getting proper helmets for them 'before we die a gruesome death' when G blurted out of nowhere.

"I think my sister likes you."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. The outburst was bizarre, of course, she liked him, and he was aware of it.

"G, I know she does, she is my friend. I like her too."  
"Oh. So you are going to date her?"  
"Date who?"  
"My sister?"

Mycroft gave G an incredulous look.

"Why would I date my friend?"  
"Myc. I meant she likes you like she wants to kiss you and have your babies like you."  
"Oh. Well, I care for her as a friend. I don't think she is my 'type'."  
"Hey! My sister is very nice! She is a great gal, and any bloke would be lucky to have her!"  
"And I agree with you. I'm just not 'any bloke'."  
"Are you saying you are too good for my sister you twat?"  
"No, for heaven's sake, I'm just trying to politely phrase that I don't like girls that way. Seriously, when you want to be a blockhead and don't listen, the same thing with the helmets. You can be such a stubborn arse sometimes."

Delivered in a completely deadpan tone, which usually made an insult from Mycroft harder to digest for mere mortals. G looked apologetic, and he grabbed both of Mycroft's biceps and looked straight into his eyes.

"I'm sorry Myc, I mean it, sometimes I talk before thinking it through. It seems like my mouth has no connection with my brain. I know you care for C and I know you like us even if we are not posh like you or your family."  
"I accept your apology. Now, what about those helmets?"  
"I'll get you one."  
"And one for yourself too. I don't want survivors guilt."  
"I promise."

They drove in silence until they got to Mycroft's gate. Even though Mycroft had invited the siblings and Franny over multiple times, none of them had taken him on his invitation. G always looked a little overwhelmed when he gazed at the grounds in front of Musgrave Hall.

"So Myc, what is your type then? If it's not girls, what kind of bloke could steal your heart?"

Mycroft snorted, trying to rearrange his hair into some semblance of order. One of the many unfortunate things about riding home on a motorbike.

"I haven't thought about it."  
"Well, you still have Uni. I'm so proud you got early acceptance."  
"Ugh, don't remind me. Now I will be surrounded by people older than me who will think that they know better just because of a few years advantage."  
"You still have a couple of weeks to figure it out. Listen, Myc, I wanted to tell you something alone, without the girls overhearing. They are still trying to change my mind. I'm, well, I'm moving."  
"Oh. When?"  
"In two days."  
"TWO DAYS??"

G sighed and gave him a regretful and apologetic look.

"There is an opportunity, in London. My uncle has a friend who works at the police academy. I, well, I don't know if I ever told you about Papa."  
"You didn't, but C did."  
"Well, you know then that he used to be a gendarme. He died two years ago in a car accident. That is when Mum decided to move back to the UK. I... I want to do something with my life. You, well, you are such a great guy, and I'm so proud of you, and it made me realise that I have to make something of myself."  
"I don't get it, why didn't you tell me? And you shouldn't compare yourself to anyone, not me, not anyone. Why would you hide this from me? I thought we were friends."  
"And we are, we are friends Myc, you are the best friend I've had in ages, the only one I have here. That doesn't share DNA with me, that is."  
"Friends tell each other important news G. Friends don't just simply say they are going to vanish in two days."  
"I will call, I promise. I don't know if I will have a landline yet, and I know you are leaving soon for school, but Clara promised to get me your address at school as soon as you settle. I could write to you if you wanted."  
"Well, that is something, at least."  
"Don't be mad."  
"I'm not mad. Just surprised."  
"I will call as soon as I can. And we will see each other tomorrow?"  
"My parents come back tomorrow. I told you."  
"Oh. So you are not coming to the store? I was going to pick you up here at ten."  
"I don't know. I guess it depends on what time they come back. There is also my brother and sister to consider. They are usually in their little cloud, but would demand my attention narrating their adventures at Mamé's."  
"And I leave early the day after tomorrow. Would you try? I don't want to leave like this. I feel like you are mad at me."  
"No, I'm not mad. This whole situation is just unusual to me, I guess. I've never missed someone besides my family before. Another consequence of having friends."  
"So this is goodbye then? Can I at least hug you? In case we don't see each other tomorrow."  
"If you want."

G leaned the bike on the gate and pulled Mycroft into a tight hug, which was a little awkward since Mycroft froze in place and was taller than the other boy. He finally reciprocated the hug, and he thought he could glimpse unshed tears in G's eyes when they separated.

"I'm so happy I met you Myc."  
"Me too, G. You, you will call?"  
"I will."  
"Good."

And with that he jumped on the bike, making a fast exit back to town. Mycroft felt something in the pit of his stomach, a profound emptiness that he couldn't place. Then, he realised it. An epiphany. He said it to himself, softly, not that anyone could hear him.

"I think I love him."

__________________

Uni was everything Mycroft hoped it would be in the academic portion and all he feared in the social one. He managed to call both C and Francine at least once a week, and G kept his promise and called multiple times, which he always missed for one reason or other, something that saddened him greatly. Francine asked for his address at school, and he kept getting care packages from home and the girls, and G, true to his word, also wrote at least once a week, his letters enclosed in his sister's bundles. In those letters, Mycroft could see how much his soulmate enjoyed his training as a police officer, and that made his lack of friends in school somewhat bearable. G couldn't receive letters in the academy, so Mycroft sent his letters to C, and she gave them to him every other week when he came to visit. That's how the reclusive Mycroft Holmes became friends with Caroline Lestrade and Francine Weaver, and how he knew he found a soulmate in Gregory Lestrade.

Winter was pretty chilly that year, and with Valentine's day looming, Mycroft felt the gloom even in the busy streets of Oxford. His seventeenth birthday was close, and he will probably try to go back home for the weekend, but it was uncertain if he could see his soulmate, who didn't even know he was his soulmate in the first place. Mycroft decided on a whim to go to a pub and at least get something warm to eat. He ordered some chips, wishing to finish them soon and go back to his flat for a nice cup of tea. He sat on the bar, reminding himself of another pub in a little town where he had made his first friends and found his one true love.

"Is this seat taken?"

Lost in his thoughts, Mycroft looked up.

"No, go ahead."

And that was the only thing he could say before someone pulled him into a tight hug.

"Happy Valentine's, Myc."

G. Gregory. His soulmate.

"What are you doing here?"  
"I came here to give you this."

A red envelope, from which Mycroft pulled the tackiest card ever made, with bears with honeypots and balloons, which also made him laugh out loud. It read in the front, in capital letters "WOULD YOU BEE MY VALENTINE CUDDLE BEAR?". He laughed out loud, it was inappropriate but also hilarious.

"It was the ugliest one they had. I know you would appreciate it."  
"Thank you for coming. You, here, seems like a dream."  
"A good one though? Not one of those nightmares?"  
"A great one."

G pulled him into another hug and whispered into his ear.

"Happy Valentine's. I love you Myc."


End file.
